


Foreign Feelings

by endlesscolddreams



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Infidelity, Gay Sex, Homoeroticism, M/M, Masturbation, Not usuk but contains sex between them, repost from ff.net, sex while thinking of another
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:14:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25844869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endlesscolddreams/pseuds/endlesscolddreams
Summary: America masturbates while thinking of Russia. Then just when he's about to come, England walks in on him. Sex ensues, and America is thinking of Russia the whole time.
Relationships: America/England (Hetalia), America/Russia (Hetalia), England/France (Hetalia)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 35





	Foreign Feelings

Alfred has a secret. 

A secret he would like to pretend nonexciting and carry on with his live but he can't. He can't do it because he tasted heaven. He can't because the little time he had with the Russian country was enough to make him addicted. 

He can't because he is still infatuated, still attracted and still in love with the Russia personification. The representation of the United States of America loves one of his major enemies and that's outrageous, sinful, just wrong.  
His boss would be scared to death, the other countries would differ from edges, England would be hurt and Russia would think he is lying. If he wasn't so aware of this, he would proclaim it; he would try again and forget the betrayal and hateful years that stepped between them but he is well aware that’s an illusion and that hurts.  
After the hateful Cold War he came to terms that the feeling he had once for said nation had come to life, -yes he hated the Russian on the edge of the cold war but said Russian was a different person during that time of their lives. He was colder and cruel, not the same shy and cute Russia he once knew, not the same man who would receive a sunflower and blush furiously while hiding a huge smile on his scarf and yet hug him with a strength he could rival. America missed that man; he craved him and longed for him more than he will ever admit even on his own head.  
Of course, he had changed, they all changed with the wars, but Russia is back somehow, or so he believes. Russia is not that cold and cruel. He is childishly adorable, shyly cute, smug and competitive with a hint of mystery around him. How America missed him. How he yearns. 

Yet, Russia is not aware that and he and England are... a thing somehow. 

Details elude him. 

Details don’t matter anymore as long as he keeps moving forwards. Or so he tries to believe. 

. 

They were all in Ohio, a meeting that had a pool party, his own courtesy of course. They needed fun to keep them from having a break down. Greece seemed to enjoy more than everyone because crisis hit him hard but the others accepted it gladly.  
England came to him with flushed cheeks and asked if they could sleep on the same room. A gentleman as always towards America who simply nodded and wondered where the French pervert is when he needs him. Don’t take him wrongly, he likes England, it’s just not the same as it was once when infatuation ran deep and hormones made it fun. 

Then he saw Russia. 

Russia with his scarf in place but he was wearing boxers and a tight shirt, as Belarus clang to his arm for dear life. Why was she here? No one knows she must have followed him. That thought made America smile, she is rather amusing and clever, almost as clever as Russia himself.  
England said something but he simply stared with longing at the pale flesh, broad shoulders and slight pudgy and cuddly belly. Not aware of his own eyes diverting to the hot white tights flexing with every move Russia made. 

A wide smile grew on the pearl lips of that tall strangely addictive man and America knows how much he enjoys seeing everyone so nice and friendly. He won’t admit but he’s part of the reason of all the parties he throws nowadays, always hoping he’ll show up. 

America painfully wished he was near him and not on the other side feeling his boxers become a bit uncomfortable. 

Russia waved to him and he waved back, noticing on the corner of his eye a glaring Belarus. He’s used to the glares and hateful murmurs, Cuba does the same near Canada. 

He knows everything had changed. He knows they won't be together in a romantic or sexual way but he also knows deep inside his veins that that man is the one who should be on his side at night and not England. 

He sighed and turned to England with a small fake grin. 

England won't notice, no one does, and America's a natural actor but is aware that Russia can read him like an open book and his eyes follow them curiously. 

He avoids both for as long as he can after that. 

. 

America ate with England, Canada and France ignoring the usual spat of words between the European nations while glancing to the table where Russia ate and talked softly with his sister. 

Canada just eats silently and both know arguing is a manifestation of something between the European nations, they argue about everything while never crossing limits. He always crosses limits with them, he always says the wrong things somehow and they make him feel older than he is, dumber. 

When America finishes eating, he walks back earlier to his room, the room he shares with his boyfriend, as the others kept eating and talking, arguing or brawl about something he was not paying attention. 

Why did he accept dating the British man? 

He could give a number of reasons, political, social or even non reasonable ones but the only truth is America can't see him suffering for him. 

The man tried so hard and was so sad when he rejected him, more than once, that he ended accepting just to see him happy. Silly some may think, he just can’t handle the idea of causing that kind of pain to England. Not him, someone he’s so deeply entwined by history and circumstances. Someone he looks up to in a way. 

He even tried to see him as boyfriend, he truly did, but he can't. At least he doesn't force sex… They do it only once in a while. And while England seems satisfied America can’t even bother to focus on him. 

America steps into the room and closes the door. 

How he wanted to do this since he saw Russia on the pool party, how he needs it!  
He takes off his clothes clumsily and quickly. It's a hot day and he won't need them, and then lays on the bed pressing his hand on his filling dick. 

He’s not even ashamed of the thoughts that fill his mind, thought of how soft the pale skin of the Russian is, how his purple eyes look darker when lustful, how his muscles flex when he bends and his member is already half hard when he grabs it stroking roughly. 

He wishes the Russian had stepped into the pool just to see his body wet with little drops of water running through his skin. That, yes, that would be quite a sight. 

He starts caressing his own chest imagining Russia's broad chest instead of his. 

It’s rather easy to imagine Russia's nipples getting perky as he runs his hand through rough tiny hairs that surround his own nipples. 

He imagines how he would kiss that chest and bite the perky nipples, the soft moans that Russia would give while he went lower, and lower, circle that softness that’s harder than looks then grabbing that round ass. Russia would be rock hard and needy and Alfred would blow cold air on the big shaft making Russia whimper in need. A deep rumbling sound that only Russia can make.  
His hand grabs his erection firmly and starts stroking, up, down, pump again and circle head, feels member twitching thinking how Russia would blush and rush him. Pumps harder.  
He would work slowly on his big member; he would lap and open-mouthed kiss the side where a pulsing hot vein swells and then suck only the tip while listening the breathless groan Russia would give, because he knows Russia doesn't moans when needy, he grunts and whines deep on his throat before rushing him. He’s quick, hard and moves with an intensity that always leaves him breathless and utterly satisfied. 

America would swallow him and move his mouth up and down the shaft helping with his hands where he doesn't reach with his mouth Russia would grab his hair and pull him from a bruising kiss that would make them switch positions. Russia is impatient, so is America.  
The hand on his rock-hard member starts pumping faster and desperately, the other hand helps and grabs his balls making him moan and buck onto that hand that should be Russia's but doesn’t manage to have the same grip or weigh on his cock.  
Russia would start licking and biting his neck and collar, marking his territory unconsciously, then wet his nipples and play with them with his hands as his mouth moves to his inner tights and bites them wetly. He enjoys making him suffer that sweet torture but never takes too long on it. It’s as if he knows America hates the frustration and needs it fast. 

He would lick his erection only once to make him a panting mess and America would trash and whimper. A knowing smirk on Russia's face would grow and his cock would be sucked with a skilled mouth, a tad rough, as bangs fall on the Russian eyes.  
America can feel the heat growing on his lower belly; it grows and keeps growing, the Russian sensual mental image not leaving his mind. He’s aggressive and intense in a way no other lover he had was. Unique in every way and oh so good.  
Russia would prepare his ass, working the fingers inside him quickly and swallow his shaft at the same time and America would want more and more as those big fingers fill him.  
America can feel himself close as he rushes the thoughts of the Russian on his head, his hands are jerking with desperation and perspiration rolling on his forehead and body. The room filled with harsh noises and pants as he keeps stroking his member but he only listens to his frenetic heartbeat and the accented voice on his head.  
When the Russian enters inside him, he can feel them as one, he makes him feel complete and full. As much as he likes to reverse their position nothing beats the feel of that big body surrounding him, pressing him to the bed, wall, ground as he slides in and out of him. 

America is so close, so close; only a bit more! 

Both hands grab his cock and his legs open as he moves along the rythim, he can almost smell Russia’s scent on him-, 

-Creaks- 

The door opens and closes and he looks up to the blushing face of his wide-eyed boyfriend. 

America manages to push a pillow to cover his hard cock and feels his face lose colour.  
''I, I…'' he starts feeling oddly faint and dry mouthed but England cuts him with a cough on the hand and a wave of the hand.  
''If you wanted to do that you could ask me…. '' he flushes even more and America feels guilty as he watches England walk to his side on the bed. 

''I would gladly help you.'' England sits on their bed making a shiver pass through America for a second. Not a good one though, he feels like a schoolboy caught masturbating by his parents.  
'''Yeah, I was kinda horny, teen hormones … you get that.'' he mumbles laughing with a slight jittery edge but England doesn't notice that, or if he does, he ignores it only taking in the panting sweaty blond on their bed.  
England bites his lip and smirks to him ''Do you want help?''  
America feels guilt growing on his chest but he is still hard under the pillow and takes a breath before murmuring ''I would like that…''  
England kisses him softly, too hesitant, and even when he nibbles on his lip America only thinks of how he is not as soft as Russia’s lips can be. Nor as aggressive. 

He prefers it hard and intense but he won't tell it to England, he would never be as rough and hard as Russia is and he feels that smaller hand on his side.  
England crawls to the bed straddling him and bites his neck and America takes off the pillow of their middle as England lowers himself and grinds his slowly hardening member against him. It’s not hard enough, not big enough. Not as selfish as Russia nor as driven.  
Americ feels the man above him taking his coat, tie and shirt off. Summer clothes he says but they look exactly like the winter clothes with less layers-, he prefers Russia's summer clothes, the soft scarf always there. He likes to play with the scarf and enjoys how Russia blushes when he does that.  
America feels England biting and touching his chest with his lean calloused hands, and can smell his hair; it smells like rain and tea. How he wished it smelled like pine, snow and vodka musk with a hint of sunflowers somehow hiding the chamomile natural scent. He dislikes tea and England knows it.  
England's hands are not enough, they are smaller than his own hands and do not get everywhere... They do not touch him like Russia's big hands would, hard and overwhelming. These hands make him feel too big, too fat; he doesn't want to think about it when they grab his erect cock.  
England is stroking him as he takes his shorts off; they make it quick, only a few times slow. He has long realised that few like to linger. 

He prefers the slow times with Russia where the Russian caressed and worshipped his body as a treasure or even the quickest ones in the janitor's closet where they would be passionate, grind and rut like animals on heat. 

England is too proper for that. 

America prefers to think that he never heard of how England does those things with France in a more passionate way, sometimes with toys and shit he has no interest in. He should feel jealous be he can't. He never felt jealous of England, just wants his full attention. After all he is the one who left him to learn life with humans instead of countries like himself. 

He can’t tolerate the fact that they are similar and, in another life, maybe England could have something with Russia that America could never develop due their differences. 

England leans and takes his dick on his mouth, wet sounds coming from him and America tries not to buck because it feels good. Yes, down there it does feel good, but it's not the same, it doesn't crawl into his head like a disease as Russia would, he doesn't make him feel the intensity Russia made him feel with a single touch and that saddens America. It’s an almost foreign feeling even if he’s felt it so many times. 

England can take him all and Russia can't, he’ll give him that, but he can't move his tongue like Russia can, he can't make him lose control as Russia can. 

America bites his lip as his eyes sting and he stays still as he feels a wet finger on his rear caressing and teasing his puckered entrance. He hates when England finally moves the finger in and feels impossibly dry. England sighs looking down for the first time since they began that act and their wide eyes lock. 

He sees England, his father figure, his big brother figure, the man he aspired to be one day until he decided he could be better. How he wishes it was Russia there. 

Reality is never kind to him though. 

He feels heavy on his mind and a that bit foreign pleasure on his lower belly and duck and shifts his line of vision to the ceiling. 

He prefers watch the ceiling and imagine Russia than look down and see how he is lying to England. 

America could switch positions, England asks for it sometimes but he won't, he prefers it like this. America knows he loses control of his strength during sex and when they do it, he truly watches his strength but England ends always hurt… an aching ass that should not ache as much, a twisted arm or leg etc., he knows Russia can take him gladly and even ask for more.  
Two fingers are in and a third enters, it stings and his muscles try to push him off. 

He wants to laugh. 

Russia needs to putt four fingers to stretch him properly and even as rushed as they are his body doesn't reject him as much.  
''Feeling good huh?'' England teases and he nods, a small lie between so many. He must have chuckled so he smiles and watches the ceiling again.  
A sudden wave of pleasure hits him making his cock twitch and he gasps silently; England keeps hitting that place and he feels England take his fingers out of him. He whimpers roughly at the lost, he knows if it was with Russia he would whine and rush him. 

England kisses him again, his tongue prods and he uncloses his mouth responding to the kiss. Never sweet, competitive or passionate as with Russia. 

America realises that this wrong in so many ways but suddenly he feels England rubbing his erection on his rear and he opens his legs pushing his hips up to help, trying not to think about that. 

England enters in one motion. He his lubed up and slippery, America doesn't know when that happened. 

England waits and all America can think is how Russia would enter slowly making him feel every inch. With England it feels uncomfortable and stings a bit, with Russia is slightly painful until he relaxes. He prefers that initial pain, it feels more real. 

England is little above him, he holds America but almost can't, Russia would hold him as if he was a ragged doll. Russia would make love to him in many positions because he can hold both as America can also hold both. England can't hold both and that makes him feel heavier, disgusting and bitter. 

England starts moving and prodding until he slides against his prostate with every motion, America gasps as his member starts hardening and digs his nails into his back but removes when he looks into England's face and sees pain. 

Russia would be glad for those nails; he would take him harder and make him feel his weight above him. He misses his weight, how it makes him feel wanted and protected. 

Desired and overwhelmed with pleasure and skin contact. 

''America, Am I hurting you?'' England goes slowly and looks at him with concerned green eyes.  
''Nope, why?'' Is he crying? No, he's not… why did he stop? It was feeling nice, just not enough. 

Not enough to make it fantastic and incredible as it was with Russia. Never the same intensity or even close to the pleasure Russia made him feel once.  
''Your eyes looked wet and you made a pained face… If I hurt you tell me, don't be prideful!'' England frowns and he wants to laugh so he chuckles a bit and kisses his cheek. 

He cares for England, he does, but it feels distant and foreign. As if they do not fit together at all. 

''Keep going, but harder.'' 

He wants to laugh because he scowls him even on bed; he wants to laugh because Russia would never continue if he showed a pained face, he wants to laugh because he wants to cry. It's wrong, oh so wrong… and it hurts him.  
England rushes his pace until he stirs and comes inside him, he doesn't feel that, it doesn't reach his mind or body. 

It feels afar, the tensing body and hands gripping tighter on his dick tell him that England is finished but he doesn't find the will to care much. He’s so done with all this. 

England cares though and keeps jerking him but he can't come, not yet, not enough… With Russia he is the first one to come and even achieves the second orgasm in one round. Perks of eternal youth.  
England looks up to him and he smiles a bit shakily, England pulls himself out of him and he helps England pumping him. 

He comes minutes later with their both bare hands on his erect dick, England lips on his throat and his mind on Russia's ass in those tight pants he wore at the meeting before the party. He wonders if Russia would let him shave his ass... 

They collapse side by side and England finally asks ''What's wrong?''  
America wants to tell him, he does, but if he did he would admit he just fucked with his half-brother, that he is in love with his enemy and that his chest hurts so much that not even the fucking crisis can make it hurt more as it does with the others.  
When he feels arms around his shoulders he notices he started to shake in frustration and sits hugging his legs.  
He could say it now… He wants… but…  
He prefers to go for the easiest way, never about him but about the others. 

It's easier and less painful. 

''I know you cheated on me with France…'' England looks mortified but guilt is on his face too, America finds that he is glad that the intel was true and finally has a reason to end it all.  
''It was a mistake; the bloody frog took advantage when I was drunk… I...'' England tries but can't say more. 

Even America can see the exposed lie. 

''I'm sorry America, I really am... please… it was just once…''  
''Do you love him?'' America looks at England who looks too thoughtful for his own good.  
''I only want you… please America…'' he pleads and it feels freeing to America. 

'Ah, you're tired of trying with him... I wished I could try again with Russia, You, selfish bastard' America thinks bitterly.  
''I want to break up.'' America says suddenly and England freezes panicking.  
''I swear I'm over him, please don't do this!''  
''I don't love you England…'' he admits. 

'You're not enough! You're not big, funny, stargazer, sunflower lover, hot, Russian… you're not him… you'll never be him…this was a mistake and we both know it.' he wants to say but he closes his eyes and places his head on his legs. 

He can't bear the hurt on England's face. He can't bear to know he is the reason it's there. A Hero doesn't hurt people; America only wants to help, not hurt.  
England shifts and looks devastated mouth gaping for a few seconds. ''I thought… but… I love you…''  
''Not as you love France am I right?'' 'Please, let me be right this once.' he begs silently not meeting his eyes and England looks at him in surprise. He must have never thought about that possibility, it's probably true then… America feels his guilt diminishing somehow at that conclusion.  
''America, don't say that… it's different…''  
''You can't love both England, you don't love me…'' 'As I don't love you'  
''America… I do….'' He tries to reach for him and America finally meets his eyes.  
''I don't… I'm sorry…''  
England looks about to cry and he goes to the bathroom, he doesn't want to go back. 

He is free to stop feel that suffocating guilt, free to long for Russia. 

When he returns to the bed, there's a note saying England will be staying in another room and it’s a relief, it would be weird for him to leave his own hotel. 

Next morning Canada tells him England slept in France's room. He finds that he is surprisingly glad for it. France is his comfort as much his nemesis; 

He wonders why he hadn’t realised it before. He was probably too busy feeling guilty. 

Russia slept alone, always alone. Always outsider as America is. Now he can feel free to look at him, to want him, lust and long for him. 

His own eyes take a hard edge of tiredness and he decides he needs a time away from everyone. 

No more lies, no more half-truths, no more guilt. 

He will move forward somehow. 

**Author's Note:**

> Previous known as ‘not the same’ first posted on kinkmeme then ff.net (2012).  
> Re-upload.
> 
> I apologise for any mistake. 
> 
> Thank you for reading.


End file.
